Prayers
by Master Spy advenger
Summary: Sometimes, there is nothing to do but pray. A collection of one-shots focusing on prayers sent during the Deathly Hallows.
1. Malfoy Manor

**Let's not play games – Harry Potter isn't mine. I did not write it, think of it, or do anything other than read it. Andwritefanfiction. **

**I always pictured Hermione having a bit of a spiritual side, and what better time for it to come out than when they were at Malfoy Manor? This is a story I've been thinking of writing for awhile now, and I've finally gotten off my lazy bum and put it on paper!**

**Anyways, enjoy the story. A special thanks to the multiple websites I took the prayers from!**

'_Dear Lord, I am calling upon you today for your divine guidance __and help__. I am in crisis and need a supporting hand to keep me on the right and just path. My heart is troubled but I will strive to keep it set on you, as your infinite wisdom will show me the right way to a just and right resolution. Thank you for hearing my prayer and for staying by my side. _

_Amen'_

The last time Hermione had been to Church was after she wiped her parent's memories. She said a prayer for them, for her and her friends, and all of the wizarding world in their time of war. The prayer she sent over and over again in her mind was one that her grandmother had taught her when she was a little girl, and had spent three weeks with her in the summer. Hermione had been convinced her grandmother's house was haunted, and the old woman had grown tired of having Hermione sneak into her room in the middle of the night.

Growing up, her parents had taken her to the Church at the end of their street; every Saturday afternoon, she and another child from the congregation would dust the pews for a handful of lollipops and a hug from Father Williams. He was the man who baptized Hermione when she was a baby, who had taught her the Ten Commandments, and drilled it into her head that, while God loved her, she would still have to take the punishments he had warned her of. He had been there when she went to pray for her parents; she had told him that she wouldn't be coming any more, and that she would miss him.

The prayer did little to calm her nerves, and she had not expected it to – she could not see how even God could get them out of this situation, as a Snatcher held her around the middle, with her hands pinned behind her back, and Greyback demanded to know who Harry and Ron were.

Frantically, Hermione tried to think of who she could pretend to be, and hoped that Harry or Ron was thinking of a believable story they could tell them – with her mind in the state that it was, she doubted her ability to string out a complicated lie.

As it was, she could barely think of a new name for herself.

"Penelope Clearwater," Hermione said when they came to her, hoping that they would not think it suspicious that she sounded so afraid. They had to be used to fear, being what they were….

The moment Hermione said her name, she knew she should have picked someone else. She had no idea of Penelope's blood status, and if she had run, they would be looking for her. The first words out of her mouth, and she had already managed to mess up. She cursed herself for not thinking of that, and hoped that, at least, it wouldn't get her and her friends killed.

"And your blood status?"

"Half-blood," she answered.

It wouldn't work. They wouldn't believe them. They would drag them all down to the Ministry, and the jinx would ware off on Harry, and they would all be killed within the hour – and probably, in some horrible, painful way.

And there was nothing she could do to stop it.

"Easy enough to check, but the 'ole lot of 'em look like they could still be 'ogwarts age." A Snatcher that Hermione could not see said.

"We'b lebt," Ron told him; Hermione's anxiety level went up – if that was possible – when she realized that Ron's mouth had to be full of blood. He had gotten that wound for trying to protect her, when she should have been able to take care of herself.

Of course, the questioning did not stop with this – the chances of them getting away seemed to be getting smaller and smaller by the second. Hermione could now clearly imagine Voldemort appearing at the Ministry, first killing Harry, and then moving on to her and Ron for helping him…. Or maybe he would kill them first, quickly, and make Harry's death drawn out, as punishment for surviving the first time.

At the thought of this, her stomach turned into knots, and her knees went weak; if the Snatcher had not been holding her tightly – too tightly – she would have fallen.

"Well, they don't show the Dark Lord proper respect, so the name's been tabooed. A few Order members have been tracked that way. We'll see. Bind them up with the other two prisoners!"

_Shit! _Hermione thought, thinking of all the times she or Harry had said Voldemort's name in the last few months. She had never believed that the name had actually been tabooed… all those times, if someone had stumbled upon them….

And now, here, someone had. And they were all going to die because of it.

The Snatcher holding her guided her to a spot where a goblin and an African American boy were tied up, and forced her to sit down on the forest floor along with Harry and Ron.

"Anyone still got a wand?" Harry asked; Hermione could tell from the sound of his voice that he already knew the answer. She wondered why he would want confirmation that they had no hope, that they had no option but to talk themselves out of it – which, at this point, seemed highly unlikely.

"No," Ron answered at the same time she did.

"This is all my fault," Harry sighed, "I said the name…"

To Hermione, it seemed odd that he was apologizing for this – it wasn't like an apology would make it better.

"Harry?" The person next to Hermione asked; he sounded as though he could not believe his ears, and the moment Hermione realized who he was, neither could she.

"_Dean?_"

"It is you! If they find out who they've got -! They're Snatchers, they're only looking for truants to sell for gold…."

To Hermione, this was the worst possible thing he could have said. It meant that a trip the Ministry was guaranteed, and, as a result, so were their deaths.

'_Dear Lord, I am calling upon you today for your divine guidance __and help__. I am in crisis and need a supporting hand to keep me on the right and just path. My heart is troubled but I will strive to keep it set –_

"Hey! Look at this!" A shout brought her out of her prayer, and when she saw what it was about, she could feel her heart quicken. They had found the sword.

"Very nice," Greyback said as he examined it, "oh, very nice indeed. Looks goblin-made, that. Where did you get something like this?"

'_Set on you, as your infinite wisdom will show me the right way to a just and right resolution. Thank you for hearing my prayer and for staying by my side._

_Amen.'_

She told herself that she shouldn't be praying, that praying wouldn't help them at all, and she would be better suited to be thinking of a lie to tell them, a lie that might be able to save their lives… and yet, she could not seem to stop herself from doing so.

"'ang on a minute, Greyback! Look at this, in the _Prophet_!"

From next to her, she could hear Harry give a small grunt of pain, and before she could think of what could have caused it, she was given something much more horrifying to think about.

"'_ermione Granger," _Scabior read_, "the Mudblood who is known to be traveling with 'arry Potter."_

The moment she heard her name, Hermione began to tremble. Softly, at first, and then, by the moment, progressively more violent. If she had not been sure they were going to die before, she was now.

The werewolf knelt down in front of her, his eyes one of the most unforgiving things she had ever seen.

"You know what, little girly?" He asked, his breath hot against her face. "This picture looks a hell of a lot like you."

"It isn't! It isn't me!" From the way her own voice sounded, she knew that she had given them all away. She hated herself for not being able to control her emotions, for not being able to hide her fear when it mattered the most.

'_Dear Lord, I am calling upon you today for your divine guidance __and help__. I am in crisis and need a supporting hand to keep me on the right and just path. My heart is troubled but I will strive to keep it set on you, as your infinite wisdom will show me the right way to a just and right resolution. Thank you for hearing my prayer and for staying by my side. _

_Amen'_

They were dragged to their feet a moment after she finished her prayer, and with a single Disapparation, they were brought to Malfoy Manor; Voldemort could be waiting in there for them, for all she knew. In minutes, they could all be dead.

One of the Snatcher's was rattling the iron gate, trying to figure out how to open them.

"How do we get in? They're locked, Greyback, I can't – blimey!"

The metal was curling and folding, forming a face that asked what they were there for. Within minutes, they had been allowed through, and were being forced through the front door of Malfoy Manor. Hermione could barely control her legs, they were shaking so horribly; each breath caught in her throat, and her heart pounded so loud that she could hear it clearly in her ears.

"Follow me," Narcissa Malfoy said, "my son, Draco, is home for his Easter holidays. If that is Harry Potter, he will know."

Moments later, they were joined by Lucius, who appeared shocked when he was told that of the possibility that Harry Potter was in his home. Surely he was picturing himself handing him over to Voldemort, being made a pet of his once again…. The thought of it enraged Hermione, and yet, there was nothing she could do.

Getting up from his chair, Draco came when his mother called for him. Hermione did not want to watch him, did not want to see his lips move when he confirmed that the boy with the swollen face was, in fact, Harry Potter. They were spun around so that the light fell on Harry, making the ropes dig roughly into the skin of Hermione's arms.

"Well, boy?" Greyback demanded after only a second, not being able to contain himself for even a moment.

"Draco? Is it? Is it Harry Potter?" His father asked, giving Draco only a few moments longer than Greyback had. Apparently, everyone here was eager for the show to begin.

"I can't – I can't be sure." Draco said, sounding scared; Hermione could not believe it – either Draco was terrified of making a mistake that would get him and his family murdered, or he had picked tonight to be drastically out of character.

"But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!" Lucius encouraged, practically pushing Draco forward in his excitement. The entire lot of them made Hermione sick.

'_Angel of God, my Guardian dear,  
To whom God's love commits me here;  
Ever this day, be at my side  
To light and guard  
To rule and guide.__,__ s_

_Amen'_

"What about the Mudblood then?" Greyback was obviously mad that he could not get a straight answer out of Draco. The attention was shifted to Hermione, and she immediately dropped her gaze to the floor – if she looked any of these people in the eye, even for a moment, she knew she would burst into tears.

"Wait," Narcissa said, sounding oddly calm, giving the situation. "Yes – yes, she was in Madam Malkin's with Potter! I saw her picture in the Prophet! Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"

Even with her eyes locked on the floor, Hermione had to use all her strength to keep from crying; she could feel her face going red, and her vision was obscured from the pooling tears. She refused to show these people how scared she was, how weak she was right now…. For now, she would be strong, and pretend to be far braver than she actually was.

"I… maybe… yeah." Draco muttered, his voice sounding like that of a child.

At Draco's agreement, the excitement in the drawing room mounted – Lucius turned his attention to Ron; even though Hermione couldn't see his face, the excitement in his voice was enough to make her give up the tiny vapors of hope she had been clinging to.

"What is this? What's happened, Cissy?"

Hermione did not instantly recognize the voice, and she lifted her gaze to see who the newcomer was; at seeing who it was, she finally let the tears slip out of her eyes.

Bellatrix Lestrange was standing right in front of her, gaping, her lips slightly parted.

"But surely," she whispered, "this is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger?"

'_Heavenly Father,_

_As we kneel before Your throne of grace, we ask a special blessing and sanction upon us, Your people. We particularly pray that You will shield and defend us from the ravages of fear and anxiety. Place Your protective mantle around us and our loved ones that we will be fearful of nothing. Help us, Father, to change these times of fear and apprehension into trust and assurance. Keep us steadfast and resolute of purpose in serving You and in doing Your will. Forgive our weakness and shortcomings. Lord, hear our prayer, for we give You praise, honor, glory and thanks._

_Amen'_

As she prayed, she could hear them fighting over who would call Voldemort. Hermione had no idea how long it would take him to get here, but she expected that she, Harry, and Ron were in the final moments of their lives. With a twinge of regret, she realized that Dean and the goblin would die as well, simply because they had been unlucky enough to be caught with them.

"STOP!" Bellatrix shouted suddenly, making Hermione flinch. "Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!"

Lucius froze, his finger inches from his Mark. Through the remaining tears in her eyes, Hermione could see how terrified he looked of Bellatrix.

"What is that?" She asked one of the Snatcher's – the one who held the sword of Gryffindor.

"Sword."

"Give it to me!" She sounded horrified, as if it was her death that was approaching; at this point, Hermione really didn't even want to know why.

"It's not yours, missus, it's mine, I reckon I found it."

For his disrespect, the Snatcher was stunned by Bellatrix; a number of the remaining Snatchers gave a cry of outrage and drew their wands.

One by one, Bellatrix stunned the group of Snatchers, sending bursts of red light in every direction. She left only Greyback, whom she approached with murder in her eyes.

"Where did you get this sword?" She whispered to him, claiming his wand without a struggle.

'_Direct me now, Oh gracious Lord,  
To hear aright Thy holy Word;  
Assist Thy minister to preach,  
And let Thy Holy Spirit teach,  
And let eternal life be found  
By all who hear the joyful sound.  
Amen'_

The following prayer came on its own, as if her subconscious mind was yearning for a comfort that God was refusing to give her. By now, abandoning prayer would seem like abandoning hope; as long as she was praying, Hermione could try to convince herself that there was _always _a way out.

Only after Greyback had told Bellatrix that he had taken it from them did she allow him to leave; the momentary lose of control seemed to have scared him straight of Bellatrix, for he walked away without confronting her.

"Draco, move this scum outside. If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me." Bellatrix ordered Draco; somehow, Hermione did not doubt that Bellatrix could kill an entire group of men without being bothered.

"Don't you dare speak to Draco like– " Narcissa started, only to be interrupted by Bellatrix.

"Be quite! The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem!"

She seemed to be at a loss for words, and not entirely sure of what to do next. She was muttering to herself, so softly that Hermione could not make out her words.

"The prisoners must be placed in the cellar, while I think of what to do!"

There was a disagreement at this – petty Death Eater prides the root of it. Soon, however, Greyback was ordered to take them to the cellar; forced to wait for them to call Voldemort, for either their deaths to come, or a miracle to happen.

"Wait," Bellatrix said as soon as Greyback began to force them to move, "all except… except for the Mudblood."

A wave of every possible emotion flooded through Hermione's veins; she felt her blood turn to ice, and a fresh batch of tears beginning to fill her eyes. She knew what Bellatrix had done to Neville's parents; it didn't take much to figure the same thing was about to happen to her.

"No!" Ron cried, "you can have me! Keep me!"

Hearing Ron's voice, Hermione felt a lurch of dread. '_Please,' _she begged God, '_please don't let her agree.' _She would rather be hurt herself than know that Ron was going through it in her place; she would never forgive him for making her go through that. Snapping her out of her thoughts was the sound of Bellatrix hitting Ron; Hermione winced, wishing more than anything for this nightmare to end.

"If she dies under questioning, I'll take you next," Bellatrix promised. "Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book. Take them downstairs, Greyback, and make sure they are secure, but do nothing more to them – yet."

Bellatrix cut Hermione free from the others, and held her by the hair so tightly that, if she hadn't held such a large amount, would have pulled it right out. Hermione tried to think of every prayer she knew – she was certainly running out of them by now. Remembering one that, when she was younger, her pastor would have the congregation say every time someone befell a misfortune.

'_I seek protection for my soul in the Lord of the earth and the Lord of the heavens. I seek protection for my soul in the One in whose name no sickness can hurt. I seek protection for my soul in the One whose name is Blessed and a Cure._

_Amen'_

Once they were in the middle of the drawing room, Bellatrix cast Hermione down on the floor, pointing her wand at the center of her chest. Hermione kept her eyes away from her, and did not try to get back up – she was sure that it would only get her pushed back down.

"Where did you get this sword?" She hissed, the same question she had asked Greyback only minutes earlier. It seemed like an eternity had passed between that moment and now, like time had slowed down, mocking her.

Hermione didn't know what to say – there was nothing she _could _say, other than the truth, which was out of the question. Quickly, she resolved to herself that she wouldn't betray her friends; that she would die before she let that happen.

There was a bang, a flash of light, and Hermione was hit with a pain that was grater than she ever thought could exist – so grate that Harry, Ron, or even her parents could have been standing right in front of her and she wouldn't have had the slightest idea who they were. She screamed at loudly as she possibly could, having no control to stop it, and dug her fingers against the hardwood floor, trying with all her might to focus on anything other than the pain.

Each second seemed like hours, and Hermione wished for more than anything that it would end. She did not care how – whether God finally gave her a miracle, she passed out, or even if she died…. She wasn't sure she wanted to live in a world where this sort of pain existed.

Then, a moment before she was certain the agony would tear her apart, it stopped. Hermione's body went slack, and she was gasping for breath; the curse's end had taken away only the worst of the pain, leaving her body covered with a dull ache. Bellatrix did not give her more than a second to compose herself, and grabbed her by her shirt collar, pulling her so that her face was inches from Bellatrix's.

"I _said_," Bellatrix whispered, "where – did – you – get – this – sword?"

"We found it," Hermione gasped, saying the first thing that came into her head, knowing that Bellatrix would be a dolt to believe her.

Just as she expected, Bellatrix raised her wand and cursed her again. Hermione's scream was broke by sobs, and she clenched her eyes as tightly as she could, lost in a world of pain…. She could hear Bellatrix screaming at her, but her words were impossible to understand.

'_Compassionate and merciful Jesus,_

_My heart longs for Your perfection._

_Not only do You share in my sufferings,_

_You have voluntarily accepted them._

_Your proficiency –'_

She began praying the moment the curse broke, sending it as quickly as she could.

"LIAR!" Bellatrix shouted, a wild look in her eyes. "I'm going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? _Where?_"

Hermione was desperate; she looked around the room, not knowing what she hoped to see, her eyes resting on Draco. He looked pale, his eyes wide and unfocused, as if he wanted to be here about as badly as she did. When he saw her eyes on him, he looked away. Hermione didn't know what she expected him to do – he had always hated her, why would he risk his life to help her? Still… it would have been nice to know that, at least, he had objections to seeing someone be tortured in his own home.

"We found it – we found it – PLEASE!" Hermione begged as Bellatrix raised her wand to curse her again.

This time, although the pain was as horrible as it had been the past two times, she was able to keep her mind enough to finish her prayer. Her thoughts were frantic, broken, and forced, but it did not matter – all that mattered was that God heard her… which didn't seem very likely.

'_Your proficiency at perceiving my soul_

_Is compared to reading large fonts in a book:_

_Nothing is hidden from Your panorama!_

_Your merciful nature knows my intentions._

_Considering my continuous weaknesses,_

_You are dedicated to the cause of my salvation._

_Jesus, You are most kind and forgiving:_

_You are the proven Lord of compassion!_

_Amen'_

Hermione's parents raised her to believe in God and His wisdom, and that He would not put her in a situation she could not handle. Somehow, she found it hard to believe that He would think an eighteen year old girl could handle being tortured by a sadistic witch, while her best friends were imprisoned, as helpless as she was. Although, she doubted her parents could have guessed He would put her in such a situation.

'_Maybe not any eighteen year old girl,' _She told herself, _'but you're a Gryffindor. You can do this.'_

"Do you want to die?" Bellatrix shrieked at her, stomping on her stomach; Hermione groaned, putting a hand to the spot where Bellatrix had kicked her as she answered.

"We found it – honestly!" She insisted, her voice growing higher and higher pitched; more and more cracked by sobs. She could not prevent her weakness from showing, and knew that Bellatrix was now well aware of what a coward she was.

"You're lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, _tell the truth!_"

Bellatrix did not give her time to answer before placing her under the curse once again. Hermione put everything she could into her screams, as if she were trying to scream loud enough for the angels in Heaven to hear her….

Through her own scream, Hermione heard it: Ron's voice, faint, yelling her name at the top of his lungs. Hearing him was like being reminded that they were not dead yet; hearing the anguish in his voice was a reminder that they had little hope. Despite the fact that Ron sounded so… heartbroken…, Hermione found comfort in his voice. The voice that she had wanted to badly to hear after he had left them… the voice that was now trying to remind her that he wasn't going to leave again.

The curse was lifted, and Hermione felt Bellatrix put her knife to her stomach, just softly enough so that she knew that it was there….

"What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!"

Hermione resisted the urge to shout, 'then do it!', and choked back her sobs as she tried to find her voice. "We didn't take anything! I swear!" As she spoke, she realized just how hard she was crying; covering her hand with her sweater sleeve, she wiped the tear tracks off one of her cheeks.

"_Lies! Tell – me – the truth!_" Bellatrix shouted, pushing her wand under Hermione's chin. Another bang, a flash of red light, and Hermione was once again thrown into agony.

The curse, mercifully, was brief, but by the time it ended, Hermione was sobbing too hard to answer Bellatrix's question; no matter how hard she tried, she could not force herself to calm down.

'_Lord, You invite all who are burdened to come to you. _

_Allow Your healing Hand to heal me. _

_Touch my soul with Your compassion for others; _

_touch my heart with Your courage_

_and infinite Love for all; _

_touch my mind with Your Wisdom, _

_and may my mouth always proclaim Your praise. _

_Teach me to reach out –'_

"What else did you take? What else have you got?" Bellatrix paused, expecting an answer, but Hermione was still too distraught to speak. "ANSWER ME! _CRUCIO!_"

'_to You in all my needs, _

_and help me to lead others to You by my example. _

_Most loving Heart of Jesus, _

_bring me health in body and spirit _

_that I may serve You with all my strength. _

_Touch gently this life which you have created, _

_now and forever._

_Amen!' _

Hermione had not thought she still had strength enough to scream, and yet, when she was under the curse, it was impossible not to. Her throat ached from how hard she was forcing her vocal chords to work, and her voice was beginning to go horse.

She allowed herself to sob freely; loudly, once the curse was lifted – however, she was placed back under it almost immediately after.

This was it. Hermione no longer had the fight in her to continue with this – there was no hope for survival. Still, although she had given up her own hope, she had to keep trying… if not for herself, then at least for Harry and Ron. Ron shouting for her proved that they had not given up on her, which meant that she had no right to give up on them.

"How did you get into my vault?" Bellatrix demanded, "did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?"

"We only met him tonight! We've never been inside your vault…." Hermione wondered if Bellatrix could even understand her voice, she was crying so hard, "it isn't the real sword! It's a copy, just a copy!" She had no idea where the story came from, and she was positive that it would do nothing but help get them killed faster.

Although, honestly, Hermione only wished for death. Anything that would get her out of this nightmare….

"A copy? Oh, a likely story!"

Lucius – who Hermione had completely forgotten was there – began to speak of Griphook coming up to identify if the sword was a fake or not. Hermione could see flashes of light in her vision, and, although she was desperately tired, if she allowed herself to close her eyes for more than a few seconds, she could feel herself start to pass out. The words being spoken by the Death Eaters became harder and harder to understand, like she was trying to listen to them from under water.

Distantly, Hermione wondered if she was starting to die. Part of her hoped so; the other part – the more dominate part – willed herself to hang on, if only so they wouldn't move on to Ron or Harry….

Draco marched into the room with the goblin in hand; Hermione wondered when he had left, because she certainly hadn't noticed him being sent to retrieve him.

Hermione was beginning to lose her bearings, for she gave a single sob, and shouted at Draco, "what did you _do_ to them?" She had expected, that if Draco had been down in the cellar alone, that Harry and Ron would attack him and come help her. Surely, he had done something to hurt them….

"Shut _up!_" Bellatrix ordered, cutting her off with the Cruciatus curse. The pain was wrenchingly familiar, and as it engulfed her once again, she wished for nothing more than death.

'_Lord, You invite all who are burdened to come to you. _

_Allow Your healing Hand to heal me. _

_Touch my soul with Your compassion for others; _

_touch my heart with Your courage_

_and infinite Love for all; _

_touch my mind with Your Wisdom, _

_and may my mouth always proclaim Your praise. _

_Teach me to reach out to You in all my needs, _

_and help me to lead others to You by my example. _

_Most loving Heart of Jesus, _

_bring me health in body and spirit _

_that I may serve You with all my strength. _

_Touch gently this life which you have created, _

_now and forever._

_Amen.'_

It was a prayer for healing. Healing her battered body, her helpless soul… maybe, even, it was a prayer for Bellatrix, that her sadistic heart would be mended somehow. Perhaps Bellatrix did not deserve to be prayed for, but the thought did not occur to Hermione until after the prayer had been sent. As she finished, she realized that she had been whispering it aloud, ever so silently, her voice uneven and cracked.

"You, goblin, is this the sword of Gryffindor?" Bellatrix demanded, thrusting the sword into the goblin's hands.

"It isn't the real sword, really," Hermione mumbled, her words becoming progressively slurred.

"I said to _be quite!_" Bellatrix shrieked, casting the curse with ease. As she screamed, Hermione was certain that Bellatrix was no longer out for information, but simply to kill her slowly, to draw out her death for as long as possible, to hear Hermione beg for her to kill her….

She would never give her the pleasure.

The pain faded, and Hermione resigned herself to the fact that she was nearing death. It was impossible to keep her eyes open for more than a handful of seconds, and when they were open, her vision was blurred and fuzzy; the images she was seeing didn't seem to make any sense to her. She could hear the Death Eaters speaking, but their words sounded as though they were stuck together coming out of their mouths, spoken in whispers….

"_Please_," Hermione whispered, "don't hurt them." She was talking about Harry and Ron; although she knew her request would probably be ignored, she couldn't help but ask. Alas, none of the Death Eaters seemed to hear her, and they continued to glare at Griphook, waiting for him to identify the sword….

She would never see Harry, Ron, or her parents again. Ginny – or any of the other Weasleys – would never know what happened to them, and would probably go on for years not knowing if they were dead or alive. The members of the Order of the Phoenix would slowly be picked off, one by one, until there was no one left to stand up to Voldemort….

Every muggle-born in Britain would be either killed or imprisoned. She would graduate from Hogwarts, get married, or become a mother…. She would die with the last person that saw her alive being one who hated for her simply because of her blood, because of who her parents were.

This was okay. Hermione wouldn't mind letting this floating sensation carrying her to Heaven, to the Heavenly Father who would take pity on her and end her suffering…. This wasn't such a bad time to die, after all.

She felt sorry for Bellatrix. At least Hermione had lived a life filled with love and happiness – Bellatrix would never know any of that.

"I'll pray for you, Bellatrix. I'll pray for you." Hermione muttered, not sure of what she was saying. It seemed important to Hermione that Bellatrix know that she was being prayed for, even though she had done horrible, evil things to so many people.

Bellatrix chuckled, and then knelt down in front of Hermione. She made a statement that Hermione could not understand, and, for the final time, was put under the Cruciatus curse.

More than anything, she wished she was with the people she loved. What she would have given if Harry, Ron, and her parents were with her… if she could tell them exactly how much she loved them, how happy she was that she had gotten to share her life with them.

But she never would.

Her parents would live forever, not knowing they had a dead daughter. Harry and Ron would follow shortly after her in death – there was nothing she could do to save them. She couldn't even save herself.

'_Oh St. Joseph, protector of those in agony, take pity on those who at this very moment when I pray to thee are engaged in their last combat….'_

Hermione couldn't form the prayer without stopping to rest her mind, to think about just how much pain she was in. If she could just make it through this one, final prayer, then she would stop… she would push herself for the next twenty seconds, and then she would be done. Then she could die.

'_Oh Blessed Joseph, take pity on my soul too when the hour of the final battle shall arrive for me. Then, Oh my holy patron, do not abandon me, but grant me thine assistance; show that thou art'_

Pausing yet again, Hermione was certain that she wouldn't last until she finished the prayer. It was too hard… she could barely remember who she even _was, _let alone the words to a prayer she hadn't said since a member of her family's congregation died….

' _my good father, and obtain that my Divine Saviour may receive me with mercy into that abode where the elect enjoy a life that shall never end._

_Amen.'_

As she finished the prayer to St. Joseph – patron of death and the dying – Hermione allowed herself slip into unconsciousness, expecting to be welcomed by God into the gates of Heaven.

**Holy shit guys, I feel enlightened after writing that. I may never be the same again. **

**Well, as for the last part, when Hermione tells Bellatrix that she will be praying for her, I chalk that up to Hermione being completely and totally out of it at the time, because I do think she had a tremendous bitterness at Bellatrix – not only for what she had done to everyone else, but because of what she had done to her. **

**Thanks for making it to the end of this long one-shot, I hope you liked it!**

**I'm considering continuing on to Shell Cottage… maybe Ron has some prayers to say of his own? I don't imagine him knowing as many prayers as Hermione does, but hey, there's no wrong way to say a prayer.**

**Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I liked writing it!**


	2. Shell Cottage

Ron did not consider himself religious. Mostly, he had always had other things on his mind other than God and the afterlife, and had never given it much thought. Now though, after hearing one of the most important people in his life be tortured, and seen her nearly have her throat slit open, he wished he had.

He had kept his arms clutched around her as they Disapparated, but he had let go of her involuntarily during the landing; she lay several feet away from him on the beach, unmoving, her body limp. Ron felt as though his heart could rip from his chest, seeing her there: he had no idea if she was dead or alive, and, even worse; he had no idea what to do to help her other than get her to safety.

Getting up as quickly as he could, Ron went to her side and knelt down next to her. It was too dark to look at her properly, but he could see that her eyes were closed, and that her face and arms were covered in blood – bit of glass from the chandelier had embedded themselves in her skin, dotting her with dozens of tiny – but deep – cuts.

Never before had he been in this kind of pain. Ron had thought he was familiar with pain, but he realized now how foolish he was to think that: no amount of physical pain could compare to this, feeling as though his heart was being twisted around inside of him, and a knife being sharpened against it. He would have given anything to break down and cry, but he couldn't – not when Hermione needed him so badly.

Looking around, Ron realized that he had no idea where he had Disapparated them to. After a moment of panic, thinking that he had taken them to the wrong place, Ron spotted Shell Cottage in the distance; he felt as though massive stones had been taken off of his shoulders – they were about a hundred yards away, and as long as he had managed to get them close, he didn't care where they ended up.

Carefully, not wanting to disturb her, Ron gathered Hermione in his arms. As he lifted her, she remained limp and lifeless; he was struck by how light she was – he had expected her to weigh a fair bit… but, maybe, it was the fact that he had never had so much adrenaline flooding through his body. Hermione's head fell back, fully exposing the cut on her neck; looking at it, Ron's stomach churned painfully. He suppressed the urge to groan, and began to walk toward Shell Cottage, trying to get there as quickly as he could.

"Ron!" A familiar voice called: Bill had come to meet them. "Thank God you got here – _shit, _what happened to her?" He asked when he noticed Hermione. He looked like he had just gotten out of bed; his hair was chaotic, and a shadow had formed around his jaw.

"It's a long story," Ron told him, not sure of how much he could tell his brother. "I just… I just need to know where I can take her."

Sensing the anxiety in his brother's voice, Bill said, "here, give her to me. I'll take her up to my and Fleur's room."

"No!" Ron said, louder than he had meant to. His face went red, and he went on, "I mean… I've got her. I can take her." He refused to let Hermione out of his arms: he had abandoned her once tonight, and he would set himself on fire before he abandoned her again. Surely Bill could understand that….

Bill nodded, and said, "okay. Where's Harry?" He seemed to have just noticed that Harry wasn't with them; and seemed very startled with himself for letting such an important aspect slip his mind.

"He should be coming." Ron answered, cradling Hermione closer to him – so close, in fact, that he could feel her heart beating against his arm: it was pumping extremely hard, and far faster than he thought was safe… for right now, though, she was alive. As long as she was alive, Ron wouldn't give up hope.

"I'll go check on him – I'll send Fleur up in a minute to check on Hermione." Ron nodded, and he and Bill parted ways: Ron walking up the front porch with Hermione, and Bill heading down toward the beach to find Harry.

Shell Cottage looked exactly as it had the last time he was here, without the Christmas decorations and snowy windows. Painfully, Ron was reminded of the horrible weeks he spent here, holed up, wishing he had a way to find his friends, and hating himself for leaving them in the first place….

Luna and Dean sat in the living room, where a fire crackled in the fire place. When Ron walked by, Luna stood up, looking more terrified than Ron had ever seen her. He wondered why… she was, after all, completely safe now; there was no reason for her to be afraid. And yet, here she was, one step away from trembling as she walked toward Ron.

"Is Hermione okay?" She asked, her voice high-pitched and soft.

To Ron, this was an incredibly stupid question – Hermione was unconscious, bleeding, and pale as a ghost… did she _look _okay? Still, Luna was the sort of person you just didn't tell bad news to, especially when she looked and sounded like a little girl who had just had a bad dream. Maybe that's what this entire situation was to her – a bad dream that had come true.

"Yeah, she'll be fine," Ron answered, trying to sound hopeful.

Luna nodded, as if she knew that he was lying to her, and gave Hermione a very sad, lingering look before going back to sit next to Dean. Ron waited a moment before climbing the stairs, walking passed the smiling pictures of Bill, Fleur, and the rest of the family, some of which he recognized from the wedding. He had the strange urge to smash every happy picture, that no one – not even someone in a picture – had the right to smile when the girl he loved could die at any moment.

The change in Ron and Hermione's relationship had been so gradual, he had not even noticed it – if you asked him when she had gone from being a bossy girl who got on his nerves, to a girl who was his friend, to a girl he had a crush on, to a girl he would die for, he would have no idea how to answer. He was pretty sure Hermione would be the same way – although, now, he may never know for sure.

'_Stop _thinking _that way!' _He yelled at himself as he got to the top of the stairs. _'She'll be okay. She _has _to be okay.'_

Ron kicked open the door to Bill and Fleur's room, not wanting to risk dropping Hermione. The room was immaculate, with a window that gave a brilliant view of the pre-dawn stars that littered the sky like diamonds. Ron ignored it, however, and set Hermione on the bed as gently as he could.

The moment she was out of his arms, he felt the urge to lay down next to her, to bury his face in his hair, and to make sure that anyone who wanted to hurt her would have to go through him first…. All he wanted was to be near her, and to let her know, even if she was unconscious, that he would never let anything bad happen to her again.

Glumly, Ron sat down in the chair next to the bed, and sighed deeply. It was still, after all this time, hard to believe that something so _horrible _had happened to Hermione. He was amazed at how brave she had been through the entire thing… would he have been able to gather the same amount of courage she had?

Slowly, Ron took one of Hermione's hands and clasped it in both of his. It held only traces of warmth, and Ron squeezed it, trying to bring some heat back into her – he wanted so badly for her to be as comfortable as possible, even if he had no idea if she could tell the difference or not.

It was amazing – so much was going on in the house, and yet, it was as silent as a tomb. You would never think that a group of teenagers had just come here, seeking refuge from a battle, bringing along with them several people who had not been seen or heard from for months. You could have heard a cat jumping off a table, or a bird flapping its wings. Vaguely, Ron wondered where the hell everyone _was_.

Now that they were in the light, Ron could more clearly make out Hermione's features; the moment he saw her, he wished that he hadn't looked. Her lips were a mixture of white, pink, and purple, and her face was pure white, save for the spots of blood here and there. A trail of blood went from her mouth, winding its way down her chin, all the way down to her neck. The hand he held was wet with blood, and he could see bits of glass sparkling in the dim light of the room – bits of glass that were gleaming from within her skin.

Looking at her… it made him want to be sick. He couldn't believe someone had actually done this to her, and clenched his fists – he couldn't wait until they next encountered Bellatrix, for Ron would make damn sure she didn't live to see the next morning.

"'as she woken up at all?" Fleur asked; Ron jumped, having not realized that she had entered the room. She looked frazzled, and, for the first time Ron had seen, her hair was disheveled and her skin complexion was blotchy. Ron suddenly felt guilty for landing her and Bill with this mess – until he remembered that if they had not come here, they would be on their own.

"Not yet," Ron muttered, letting go of her hand and backing away, as to let Fleur get a closer look at her.

Fleur sighed when she saw the extent of Hermione's injuries, and mumbled something in French. "I need to know what exactly 'appened to 'er," she said – Ron was sure she meant to be asking a question, but the way she said it, it sounded like an order.

"She… er… had the Cruciatus curse used on her. And a chandelier fell on her." Ron said softly, as if saying the words aloud made it more of a reality. Fleur gasped, took out her wand, and began to usher Ron out of the room, which he resisted – he had no intention of leaving Hermione's side, not when he had already deserted her so drastically.

"Ronald, you _must _leave, you can come back in soon, but for now, eet ees not for boys." She said when he began to object; Ron's face instantly went red, not knowing exactly what to say – he still didn't want to leave Hermione, and _not _because he was a pervert.

So, he did what he did best – he stammered like an idiot.

Fleur rolled her eyes very slightly, giving him a tiny shove on the arm. "Eet ees okay, Ron, I just need for you to leave. Maybe you could go see 'ow ze ozzers are?"

Ron nodded, and walked slowly out of the room, closing the door behind him. Once it was closed, he leaned his head against the wood; eyes closed, and took several breaths in a feeble attempt to calm himself down. He could hear her screams echoing in his head, along with Bellatrix's voice, yelling at her to tell the truth.

He wanted to kill Bellatrix; someday, he swore to himself, he would. No, she wasn't going to get away with torturing Hermione so brutally, so mercifully… she would die as horrible a death as she had planned for Hermione.

Honestly, it scared him, thinking this way… there had been plenty of people he would have liked to kill – Draco Malfoy, for one – but he had never felt this _desire _to do it before… it was hard to describe how horribly he wanted Bellatrix dead. It was like allowing Bellatrix to stay alive would have been an injustice to all of humanity, and that it was his _responsibility _to make her pay for the things he had done.

And here he was, thinking like a mad-man.

Trying to take his mind off murder, Ron wondered if he should take Fleur's suggestion and go see Luna and Dean were alright…. No, he decided, if he could be in the same room as Hermione, he would at least be as close as possible. Luna and Dean were fine; they didn't need him. Ron, on the other hand, needed Hermione.

Ron had never needed someone the way he needed Hermione before – it terrified him.

It seemed like an eternity before Fleur opened the door to her and Bill's room, beckoning him inside. He didn't have to be told twice, and gladly followed her: he saw that Fleur had cleaned the blood off of Hermione, and replaced her bloody jeans and shirt with one of her own nightgowns. To his surprise, he saw the beaded bag on the nightstand. Leave it to Hermione to figure out a way to keep it hidden.

"If you will be staying with 'er, could you come get me when she wakes up?" Fleur asked as Ron moved closer to the bed, biting her lip before she added, "I zink she will be fine."

Ron nodded, noting how Fleur said she _thought _Hermione would be fine. If she only thought so… then there was a chance she could still… Ron didn't even want to think about the possibility, to consider that it was possible. Fleur gave Ron a small smile, which he tried to return.

"Thank you, Fleur," Ron said, "for helping Hermione."

To his utter amazement, Fleur rushed toward Ron and engulfed him in a hug. "Eet is going to be okay, Ronald. All of you are safe 'ere."

Awkwardly, Ron gave her a small hug back, wondering how he could ever have wanted to waste his time fantasizing about taking her to the Yule ball when he could have asked Hermione…. "Thanks, Fleur," Ron repeated as they broke away.

She nodded, and said, "I must go check on ze ozzer man, call for me if either of you need anyzing." Without waiting for Ron to answer, she left, closing the door behind her.

This left Ron alone with Hermione, who was as unresponsive as she was at Malfoy Manor. Ron sighed, going to sit by her side again, smoothing down her hair, which had gotten tangled and matted during their ordeal.

Ron wished he knew a prayer he could say for her. He had no idea what good it could do, but he knew that Hermione would have liked it; right now, Ron was willing to take any kind of help he could get. His parents had never taught him about God, and had never shown him to pray…. He couldn't remember the topic of Jesus come up at all in his house. He and Hermione had gotten into a discussion about it, once, during one of Harry's detentions with Umbridge…. When he had asked her why she thought God would let Voldemort come back to life, she had answered, "sometimes, you have to admit that Satan is more powerful than Jesus."

Was God looking down on them? Was He crying for what Hermione had gone through? Did He even regret letting it happen, or did He have more pressing subjects on His mind – so many so that He didn't even notice Hermione being tortured?

Ron was reminded of a book he had seen Hermione reading once – he remembered the title because he had nearly scoffed at it, asking why she had such a silly thing out. It was just after war had been declared, and she said that praying felt like the only right thing to do at the moment.

He had no idea if she brought it or not, but he reached for her beaded bag, and cast a Summoning spell into it – sure enough, a small book with a pink cover came flying out at him, the words, _Prayers for Young Girls _written on the front in gold. Thumbing through the pages, Ron was struck by how thin the pages were – he had to handle them with care as not to rip them. The font was in pink, which seemed like a cutesy detail to Ron, but as long as the words weren't written in blood, he could have cared less….

Finding the table of contents, Ron looked up prayers for healing. It gave a page number, and Ron found seven prayers listed one after another.

It felt silly to say the words aloud, but Ron supposed it worked just as well to think the words….

'_Lord Jesus Christ, _

_most Holy Redeemer, _

_you make all things new. _

_Your word promises: _

_Whoever is in Christ has become a new creation. _

_The old has passed away; _

_behold the new has come._

_Renew us, and heal us with your love._

_Make new my mind: _

_let me see life and death, _

_time and eternity, _

_this world and beyond, _

_with the eyes of faith. _

_Make new my will: _

_let me walk more loyally _

_in the way of your commandments._

_Renew us, and heal us with your love._

_Make new my heart: _

_let me love your truly _

_and love others for your sake. _

_Make new, Lord Jesus, my whole life: _

_let there be no more sin, _

_no more compromise, _

_but only devotion to you._

_Renew us, and heal us with your love._

_I bring to you, dearest Lord, _

_my life and it is, my hopes and dreams, _

_my struggles and pains, _

_my fears, anxieties and addictions, _

_my hurts, my talents, _

_my achievements, my disappointments _

_and my sickness. _

_I bring to you all whom I love. _

_I entrust all to you _

_and with confident faith I take heart; _

_for you make all things new._

_Renew us, and heal us with your love._

_Amen.'_

The prayer seemed to have no effect; Hermione remained unmoving, and her skin just as pale. Ron didn't know what he expected – for her to suddenly wake up?

Shaking his head at his own stupidity, Ron took hold of Hermione's hand again. It seemed warmer than it had last time, and he took that as a good sign; if she wasn't getting worse, he would let himself assume that she was no longer at risk of dying. Maybe Jesus hadn't abandoned them after all.

Tenderly, Ron put his hand against her check, caressing it gently. He wondered if she could feel it at all – could know that Ron would wait with her until she woke up, and for however long she wanted him to stay with her afterwards….

Ron wanted to cry. He wanted to let out everything that had been inside of him since they had been captured by the Snatchers – or, really, since they had left the wedding, and the war for them had truly began. However, when he tried to force tears to come out, they wouldn't. Ron balled up a handful of the comforter in his fist, clenching in tightly and squeezing his eyes shut. _Why _couldn't he cry the one time he wanted to? Why was it that he could only cry when it would embarrass him – not when it was actually appropriate to cry?

Tracing Hermione's face with two of his fingers, Ron wondered how it was possible to love someone so much. True love – he was sure – was when you would rather die yourself then have to live without that person; Ron had long since felt that way about her, although his mother would have said he was too young to know what love was….

Turning his attention back to the prayer book, Ron found what had to be the perfect one; it was as if this prayer was the story of their life, and that Jesus – or whoever was up there, watching down on them – had been waiting for Ron to stumble upon it….

'_Lord God,_

_Your own Son was delivered into the hands of the wicked,_

_yet he prayed for his persecutors_

_and overcame hatred with the blood of the Cross._

_Relive the sufferings of the innocent victims of war;_

_grant them peace of mind, healing of body,_

_and a renewed faith in your protection and care._

_Grant this through Christ our Lord._

_Amen.' _

That was what they were – innocent victims of war. Thousands were killed when they did nothing wrong… eleven year olds were thrown in prisons for who their parents were… and Hermione had been tortured when she didn't deserve it. The world was so full of injustices, which made Ron wonder how Hermione remained faithful – surely, she should have abandoned hope in any God by now.

Ron was even tempted to say that it was God's fault any of this had happened – for, supposedly, He had the power to stop it. And yet, He did nothing.

It dawned on Ron just how _tired _he was – it was hard for him to keep his eyes open, as if he had been running on pure adrenaline, the supply of which had just run out. Uncomfortably, Ron leaned forward, so that his head rested next to Hermione's, and put his hand on her stomach as he began to drift off….

The sun was just beginning to come up by the time Ron woke up, the light outside turning from blue to purple. In an hour or two, this window would give a spectacular view of the sunrise…. He started to sit up, stretching out his back, which ached from the position he had put it in.

Breaking him out of his thoughts was the sound of Hermione groaning – him moving seemed to have disrupted her. Startled, Ron looked down at her, hoping that he would not be let down, that she would be waking up….

"Hermione?" He said, softly. Ron put his hand on her shoulder, trying to make sure she knew that she was safe when she woke up. "Hermione, can you wake up?"

She mumbled something as she brought her legs up to her chest, making Ron's heart soar higher than it ever had before – and, for the first time in his life, he believed without a shadow of a doubt that there was a God.

Ron ignored his better judgment – which told him that it would be better if he let Hermione sleep longer – he gave her shoulder then tiniest of shakes, saying her name again, and hoping… _praying_… that she would respond. He couldn't have his hopes let up like this, only to have her slip back into unconsciousness….

Forcing herself, Ron could tell, Hermione let out a soft, "hmm?" Her eyes remaining closed.

Ron let out a sigh, letting a small smile grow on his face. There _was _a God, and He was watching down on them. He had not forgotten; they had not slipped His mind.

"Oh… Hermione…" Ron said, unsure of what exactly to say. For once, it didn't matter what he said to her, how much of an idiot he made himself look like. She didn't care, and neither did he.

"It's okay, Hermione," Ron settled for, trying to make his voice sound as soothing as possible. "We're safe. We're all safe." As he spoke, Ron smoothed back her hair, pulling several stray strands out of her face.

Again, forcing herself, Hermione opened her eyes halfway, looking at Ron's face and giving a small grin of disbelief. "How the _hell_…" Her voice faded off, but her smile remained in place. Ron could feel his heart hammering, seeing her smile… it was the most beautiful thing he had _ever _seen in his entire life.

"It's a long story; don't worry about it right now." Ron told her, giving her hand a squeeze. She let her eyes close, and burrowed her body deeper into the bed as she took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself.

"I don't believe it. I thought we were going to die." Hermione's words were spoken quietly, slurred, and her voice sounded as though it was about to go out, but to Ron, it was sweeter than music. What he would have given to listen to it all day… to spend the rest of his life showing her how much he loved her….

Knowing this, Ron couldn't imagine how afraid she had been…. He never wanted her to have to feel that way again. He would _make sure _she never had to feel that way again.

Ron put his fingertips on her forehead as he answered her, "it's okay. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Hermione opened her eyes, easier this time, and looked Ron right in the eyes. "I would have been so mad at you." She told him, her voice still no louder than a whisper.

Ron had no idea what she was talking about – or if _she _even knew what she was talking about. Was she mad at him for letting that happen to her? He wouldn't have blamed her if she was….

"What are you talking about?" Ron asked, worried of what her answer would be. She had been mad at him so many times before, and now, after coming so close to losing her, he would rather go face-to-face with Voldemort than have her angry with him.

If only she could understand that.

"If you had let them take you." Hermione said, as though it were painfully obvious. "I would have _never _forgiven you."

The words broke Ron's heart. He would have given _anything _to be able to trade places with Hermione… he hadn't considered that the exact same thoughts were going through her head.

"Hermione, let's not talk about this right now. Everything's fine, we shouldn't bring this up right now…."

"What time is it?" Hermione asked, suddenly, asking the question as though it would come up on her N.E.W.T.s.

"_What_?" Ron asked, completely unsure of where the question had come from. Why the bloody hell was it so important for her to know what time it was?

Hermione re-opened her eyes, looking incredibly annoyed, "what do you mean? It's a simple question."

Deciding to humor her, Ron checked his watch, "it's… er… almost five – in the morning. Do you feel alright?"

"I _hate _the morning," Hermione groaned, ignoring Ron's question.

"Hermione – do you feel alright?" Ron asked, gripping her hand tightly. His worry for her had only just begun to fade; he had to know if she was really, truly okay or not….

"I've been… Ron? Were you… reading my prayer book?" She asked, spotting the book in Ron's hand.

Ron could feel his face redden, right up to his ears. "Er… a bit… you don't mind, do you?"

Looking at him as though he had lost his mind, Hermione took the book from his hand, keeping it open to the page Ron had been marking with his thumb.

"Which were you saying?" She asked, scanning the pages to see what prayers were on the two pages.

Never before had Ron been so mortified. He wondered if Hermione noticed how red his face was as he pointed to it, and watched as she read the title of it.

"Lord God,

your own Son was delivered into the hands of the wicked,

yet he prayed for his persecutors

and overcame hatred with the blood of the Cross.

Relive the sufferings of the innocent victims of war;

grant them peace of mind, healing of body,

and a renewed faith in your protection and care.

Grant this through Christ our Lord."

She read it out loud, her voice beginning to return to normal, although still sounding as though she were about to lose it. "I like this one. You were saying it for us?"

"Well… yeah…. For you, really. Hermione, you were the last person who deserved to have that happen to you." Ron said, hoping to change the subject.

"Ron…." Hermione said, sounding more touched than Ron had ever heard. "That is so sweet. Thank you."

As she began to turn the pages of the book, Ron had no idea what to say. There were so many things he _wished _he could say to her, but yet… he couldn't. Thankfully, she began to speak not long after, saving him from making himself into even more of an idiot.

"Oh Christ Jesus,

when all is darkness

and we feel our weakness and helplessness,

give us the sense of Your presence,

Your love, and Your strength.

Help us to have perfect trust

in Your protecting love

and strengthening power,

so that nothing may frighten or worry us,

for, living close to You,

we shall see Your hand,

Your purpose, Your will through all things.

Amen."

"He never really leaves us." Hermione said when she finished.

Ron couldn't believe what she was saying. "If He never leaves us, then where was He when you were being tortured?" He asked, louder than he had meant to. She looked up at him with a look of surprise, and, as if it were possible, he felt his face go even redder.

"He was making me a stronger person – He showed me I had strength I never knew I had. He was bringing _us _closer together…." After she said this, a hint of pink rose into her cheeks – it was her turn to blush.

Leaning down, Ron brushed a lock of hair away from Hermione's face. Without thinking of what he was doing, he lightly kissed her cheek; for one moment, he felt the amazing softness of her skin, the traces of heat that rose to it when his lips touched it…. It was a moment of bliss, which he wished he could stop, and live in this moment forever.

"I wish He had done it in a different way." Ron whispered when he pulled away.

Just as Hermione opened her mouth to answer, Fleur burst through the door, a look of mild shock crossing her face when she saw Hermione awake.

""ow do you feel, 'ermione?" She asked, taking her wand out and using it to draw the curtains.

"Fine," Hermione answered, sounding very confused; Ron realized that she had no idea where she was. The detail had slipped Ron's mind, as had a dozen other things.

But that was okay. They had years to fill each other in.

**Thanks for the support, guys! **

**I think I'm going to turn this story into a collection of one-shots – Plot bunnies simply will not leave me alone! **

**I hope you enjoyed reading it! **


	3. Goodbye

**Plot-bunnies wouldn't leave me alone on this story, so I figured I'd continue on with it and see how far it takes me. What'll probably happen is it will turn into a series of one-shots, focusing on different situations during the Deathly Hallows that would warrant a prayer or two. And, because I like to put my two-cents in, I'll probably throw in a pointless fluff-shot here and there.**

**The inspiration for this story came from the movie, seeing Hermione walk toward the Church after she wiped her parent's memories. I know the filmmaker's said that she wasn't heading for there, but here, I'm the author, and I will use the characters as my puppets as I will. **

**Enjoy!**

Hermione pulled open one of the giant, oak doors of the Light of Life Church, the doors she had walked through countless times since she had been here for the first time at the age of three weeks. Nothing had changed; thinking that she was about to leave this place behind – possibly forever – was a bitter thought.

Other than herself, the Church was empty, and Hermione's footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors, the dim lighting of the Church making her feel like something – or someone – was about to jump out at her.

Not that that wasn't entirely possible anymore.

Hermione was crying – softly, and silently, but crying none the less. By far more painful than the thought of never seeing this place again, was that she would never see her parents again – and that her parents may never even _think _of her again. As she walked down the hallway, into the Chapel where mass was held, her parents had no memory of bringing her in here to be baptized as a baby, no memory of dropping her off at Youth Group when she was older… no memory of coming here on Christmas Eve, and of how delighted Hermione had been the first year she was old enough to hold her own candle. They would have no idea where they even here, if she had brought them here.

Why did life have to be so goddamn _hard_?

And there she was, buying herself a first-class ticket to hell for thinking words like 'goddamn' in Church.

When Hermione was little, she had been amazed by the beauty of the Chapel. After Youth Group, while waiting for her parents to pick her up, she would sometimes wander into the Chapel, just to sit in the pews and gaze at how gorgeous absolutely everything was. The walls were light brown, which looked golden in the dim lights, the floors made of dark hardwood, and the pews a matching shade of brown. In the corner was a highly polished black piano, which Hermione had played a song on one Easter….

As if today where no different from any other Sunday, Hermione sat in her family's usual pew, put her elbows on her lap, and brought the tips of her hands together, bringing her head down until her forehead met her hands. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to calm herself down before beginning her prayer.

'_Oh Almighty God,_

_You gave us the commandment _

_to honor our father and mother._

_In your loving kindness _

_hear my prayer for my parents._

_Give them long lives _

_and keep them well in body and spirit._

_Bless their labors;_

_keep them always in your care._

_Bless them generously for their loving care for me._

_Grant that, through your grace,_

_I may always be their support_

_and comfort, and that,_

_after our life together on earth,_

_we may experience the joy together praising you forever._

_Amen.'_

As she finished her prayer, of all things, Hermione realized that this was the most casual outfit she had ever worn to Church. Even for Youth Group or a social event, her parents had made her at least wear a skirt; on Sundays and holidays, she was not allowed out of the house in no less than a dress. She remembered hating when her mother would do her hair as a child, because she would always decide her bangs needed a trim, when really, they didn't. If her mother or father knew she had come to Church wearing faded jeans and old shoes, they wouldn't have let her hear the end of it….

Remembering times of when she was a child, Hermione kept her eyes on the golden cross that was printed on the cover of the bible in front of her. She wondered what time it was – she had asked Father Williams to meet her here around noon, although she had not told him it was because she wanted to see him one last time. As far as he knew, this was no different from any of the other times she met to say goodbye to him before leaving to go back to school….

She had often wondered what he would think if she knew what she was. Years ago, he had given a Sermon of the evils of Witches, and she had barely been able to sit still at all, certain that at any moment she would break into an anxiety attack right there. It was strange – supposedly, God hated witches, and yet, Hermione had never doubted His love for her, or any of her friends. He had never given her reason to doubt it, and, well, the fact that she was able to walk into this building without bursting into flames didn't hurt. Father Williams loved her, but the words he preached said that she was not necessarily a child of God. Then again, he had always told her countless times that God worked in mysterious ways.

Maybe the fact that a Christian witch existed was proof of that.

Hermione reached for the Hymn book that was placed next to the bible, flipping to the page of her favorite one. Softly – her voice barely louder than a whisper – Hermione began to sing.

"_Above all the roar of the cities,  
And over the hills and the dells,  
With a message of peace to the nations,  
Ring the beautiful Bethlehem bells,  
Bringing joy to the souls that are sighing  
In hovels where poverty dwells—  
There is life, there is life for the dying  
In the beautiful Bethlehem bells._

_Beautiful Bethlehem bells;  
Beautiful bells, beautiful bells,  
Beautiful Bethlehem bells._

_Far off in a land that is lovely,  
For the tender, sweet story it tells,  
In the light of a glorious morning,  
Rang the beautiful Bethlehem bells;  
And still in the hearts of creation  
An anthem exultingly swells  
At that memory sweet of the ringing  
Of the beautiful Bethlehem bells._

_They rang o'er the hills and the valleys,  
They summoned the glad world that day,  
From the regions of night to the manger,  
Where the beautiful Child Jesus lay;  
And forever and ever and ever  
A wonderful melody dwells  
In the tender, sweet ringing and singing  
Of the beautiful Bethlehem bells."_

It sounded strange to hear the song sung a cappella, and Hermione did not take her eyes off the paper the entire time she was singing, certain she would get self-conscious and stop. She was so shy, she hated singing by herself, even if she was the only one around to hear it….

"Have I ever told you that you have a lovely voice?" A voice behind her asked; Hermione yelped in surprise, jumping so violently that the Hymn book fell out of her hands. She whipped her head around, about to reach for her wand on instinct, when she saw that Father Williams had slipped in when she was singing, and had been slid into the pew behind her, listening to the Hymn with his eyes closed. Hermione instantly felt her face redden, and cursed herself for not being a little more aware of what was going on around her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," He said as he opened his eyes, smiling a little. He was wearing his black robe, looking no different than he did standing at the head of the Chapel.

Hermione returned his smile, "it's okay, Father. It's nice to see you."

Father Williams came to sit next to Hermione in the pew, and she moved over to make room for him.

"It's nice to see you too, Hermione. What's been on your mind?" He asked as he picked up the Hymn book, which had slipped onto the floor.

Honestly, Hermione had no idea how to answer this question. What could she tell him? _"I'm worried because ninety percent of the people I give a damn about are currently in mortal peril, I just altered my parent's memories so they have no idea who I am, and my friends and I are about to head out on a suicide mission. Oh, yeah, and I've spent the last six years at a school for witches and wizards." _Yes, she could see how _wonderfully _he would respond to that.

"It's going to be a hard year." Hermione managed, wondering how vague she could possibly be. "Everything is so uncertain now. I feel like nothing is what it's used to be."

Father Williams nodded, as if he understood exactly what she had said. "Do you trust that everything that God does is for a reason?"

"Of course," Hermione sighed. "It's just… even though everything He does is for a reason, I'm not sure the things _I _do are for the _right _reason."

"God is very forgiving, Hermione. You need not worry about doing the right thing in His eyes." He put his elbow on the back of the pew, and leaned his head against his hand. Hermione could tell he was settling in for a long discussion, for which she was thankful for.

"I know that He will forgive me… but there are so many people who will suffer if I do the wrong thing. I feel like God is abandoning me when I need him the most." Hermione admitted, hoping that all the traces of tears were out of her eyes. She had only just remembered she had been crying as she walked in, and she didn't want Father Williams to see her cry….

"To doubt God is worse than to doubt yourself. He will always be with you when you ask Him to – although, I have to admit, it does get hard when He asks us to so blindly trust him." Father Williams pointed to the cross at the front of the Chapel as he spoke, "God isn't an entity you can always feel, but he will _always _be there."

Fighting the urge to chew on her nails, Hermione answered, "I'm not sure if I can trust Him so blindly anymore. I _do _love God – with all my heart – but I worry that He won't be there when I need Him."

Saying the words aloud, Hermione realized what would happen if God wasn't there when she needed Him to be – an image of her, Ron, and Harry entered her head, all of them very much dead. How could she share her fear with this man?

"How do you feel when you pray?" Father Williams asked, indicating the tiny prayer book that was lined up in front of the bible.

Hermione had to think about this for a moment – she wanted to pick her words right. "I feel… calmer. Like I can feel God entering my heart. But I'm also nervous – I worry that one day, I won't be able to feel Him with me. I worry about God just… I don't know, giving up on me."

"God does not give up on His children, and you are no different from any other of His creations. As long as you want Him in your life and heart, He will answer your prayers when you ask for Him." Father Williams, she was sure, was trying to reassure her, but this statement only put her more on edge.

How could she tell him that she _was _different? How could she convince him that God frowned upon all of her people? Even though she _believed _God loved her, she didn't know that for sure. For all she knew, God was gasping, looking down at her in Church.

Again, choosing her words carefully, Hermione said, "what if I have done something even He cannot forgive? I _need _to have Him in my life… I just feel so alone."

Father Williams brought his eyebrows together in confusion. "What's happened, Hermione? You've never spoken like this before – what's troubling you?"

Hermione sighed, "I'm not sure of what to do, Father. My life is changing, and I need God more than ever. But the thing is… I've sinned so much, and I'm not sure I'm completely sorry for most of it."

"Remorse comes with time – if you give it time, remorse will come. With remorse comes forgiveness."

"What if I die before I start to feel remorse?" Hermione asked before she could stop herself.

Father Williams looked as though Hermione was putting him in a difficult situation, and she found it difficult to look him in the face.

"You are young, and your heart is open to God. We don't necessarily have to feel remorse for God to forgive us – sometimes the _right _thing is also a sin; God understands this."

Hermione remained silent, staring at her hands, which she twisted nervously on her lap. She knew that everything she had done had a justifiable reason, but what if God didn't see it that way?

"This is your last year of school, isn't it?" Father Williams asked, obviously trying to change the subject.

Again, unable to look him in the eyes, Hermione nodded.

"What do you have planned for the future?"

"I'm really not sure, Father. I'm not even sure I have a future right now."

Father Williams chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "Hermione, if I've ever met a teenager with a future, it's you. Why would you say something like that?"

Before today, Hermione had never told a lie in Church before. There was something about sinning in Church that was worse than sinning anywhere else, and Hermione could not get the horrible taste of it out of her mind. "I'm not sure, Father. I'm just so doubtful of everything right now, including my faith."

"Faith is meant to be a person's rock," Father Williams said, crossing his legs. "No matter how stormy the sea, Jesus is what keeps you from going under the water. It takes something very powerful to make a person doubt that. Is there anything you can tell me about the situation?"

When Hermione hesitated, Father Williams reminded her, "whatever you tell me is strictly between you and me. I can't tell anyone – morally, or legally. That includes your parents, and the police… if they would come asking, that is." He added, with a smile.

"I can't really say much," Hermione told him. "All I can tell you is that my friends and I are in trouble. I wonder why God isn't stopping this from happening – none of us did anything to deserve something this bad to happen to us."

Hermione felt horrible for unloading her problems onto Father Williams, but she supposed that he had to be used to this by now… after all, she it wasn't like she was a drug addict, turning up at his house at three in the morning, withdrawing and staying at his house for hours, talking non-stop about their lives. She was simply a member of his congregation, someone he had known their whole life, and needed the guidance that only a man of God could give her.

"What should I do?" Hermione asked, wringing her hands even tighter. She was squeezing them so tightly, they were beginning to turn blue; she was certain that, at any moment, Father Williams would demand to know what she was so nervous about.

"If you doubt your relationship with God, the only thing you can do is strengthen it. He gives us obstacles to see who is willing to climb them – for themselves, for others, and for Him; they only make us love Him more in the end."

Hermione wished there was a way she could make him understand. She wished there was a way he could know that she wasn't even sure God _liked _her anymore, let alone loved her… and yet, there was no way he could _ever _get it, unless she told him the truth.

She could never do that, and it only reminded her how she would never belong in the Muggle world.

Did she even _want _to belong in the Muggle world? The thought seemed foreign to her – before, she had always had her family to bind her to the Muggle world; as long as her parents were around, she would always have a sense of belonging. Now, her parents were as gone as they could be without being dead, and that link was gone.

No, she didn't belong in the Muggle world. Not really – not ever.

And now, there was a war going on in the Wizarding world – a war over blood purity, which she had none of. People like her were going into hiding, and it was only a matter of time before all hell _really _broke loose. As long as the war was going on, she didn't belong in the Wizarding world, either.

So, where did she belong? Did she ever belong _anywhere?_

"How do you deal with other people's problems every day, Father?" Hermione asked, trying not to think of things that would only continue to tear her apart.

"Trust me, it isn't easy," Father Williams chuckled; Hermione looked into his eyes for the first time since their conversation began. "But it's what the Lord has called on me to do, and who am I to ignore that?"

After letting this soak in, Hermione told him, "you're a really good priest, Father. You've helped me so much over the years."

Father Williams let out a content sigh, smiling as he gazed across the Chapel. "It seems like just yesterday when your parents brought you in here, a tiny baby, and you didn't cry the entire time you were here. You looked like just being here was soothing."

Hermione blushed, and wondered how it was possible that she was the same person as that baby. So much had changed….

"Eighteen years old, you'll be soon – no longer a child, but a young woman. What do you think of that?"

Hermione shrugged, "age doesn't really matter much to me; I haven't felt like a child in years."

"I think it's something to be celebrated," Father Williams countered, reaching into his pocket and pulling something out. "I know it's not your birthday yet, but since this is the last time I'll see you until then…."

He held up a thin cross, hanging from a chain – it was simple, but Hermione was touched by it.

"Oh, Father," Hermione gasped, letting him drop it into her palm, "it's _beautiful. _Thank you so much." The chain was long enough that she could slip it over her head without unclasping it, and as she did so, she could feel some of her nerves being put at ease. "It's so kind of you."

"I'm glad you like it," Father Williams said, his smile so wide that it showed the laugh lines in his eyes.

Hermione leaned forward and hugged him, smelling the incense that were burned in the Chapel, and the scent of vanilla candles. He hugged back, laughing, and patted her on the back before she pulled away.

Father Williams checked his watch, and grimaced when he saw what time it was. "I've got a meeting with a donor in a few minutes; I'd best be off. It's been a pleasure talking with you, Hermione; be sure to drop in and say hello the next time you're on holiday."

Again, lying, Hermione said, "I will, Father. I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you, too. I'll be praying for you – you can write me whenever you want, if you need any help."

"Thanks," Hermione said, grateful that there would be someone from her old life thinking of her in the coming months. "For everything you've done for me."

Father Williams hugged her again as he stood up, and she watched him walk out of the Chapel. She truly wished she would see him again….

Tracing the cross with her finger, Hermione again bowed her head to pray.

"My good Angel,

Thou comest from heaven;

God has sent thee to take care of me.

Oh, shelter me under thy wings.

Lighten my path, direct my steps.

Do not leave me,

stay quite near me

and defend me against the spirit of evil.

But above all come to my help

in the last struggle of my life.

Deliver my soul so that with thee it may praise,

love and contemplate the goodness of God

forever and ever.

Amen."

Unafraid of being overheard, Hermione spoke her prayer in a regular volumed voice, lingering in the pew for only a moment before getting up and leaving the Chapel.

As she shut the door of the Light of Life Church, she ended one chapter of her life, and began a new one – one filled with fear, uncertainty, and, above all, faith.

Walking down the rainy street, looking for a place to Disapparate, she could feel God with her, and knew that He had not given up on her.

**This was a fun one to write, I hope you guys liked it! I'm very happy with how it turned out, and hopefully you guys feel the same. **


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